


the long and empty nights

by brightlights



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asphyxiation, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Light Bondage, Verbal Humiliation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlights/pseuds/brightlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme.  Prompt was "Terezi acting cruel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the long and empty nights

Terezi buries razor teeth in your neck and you laugh.  
  
“Come on,” you breathe, your hands on her shoulders, pressing down, and you know it’ll bruise, your handprints on her body. She is your canvas. She is the unwilling altar for the motherfucking holiest of deeds, your vicious little spade sister. “Motherfucking try, why don’t you.”  
  
She grins, your blood all dark and dripping from her teeth. She licks it off before answering, and she used to hate the taste of blood but she loves yours. “I don’t need to. Not with you.”  
  
That doesn’t settle right in your pan, somehow, something a little off about her voice and her blind eyes all alight. “Now what,” you hiss, your fingers digging harder into her skin, “what could you mean to be up and saying with that? Best not give me a wrong answer, sister.” You fist one of your hands in her hair and try to bring her face up to meet yours.  
  
And all of a sudden you feel something sharp in your stomach and you’re gagging, and she’s behind you quick as lightning. You growl and spin, try to grab her and shove her back to the floor, back in her place, back where the little sludgeblood belongs, but her little hands are around the base of your neck and you feel her thumb press in. You’re coughing, you can’t breathe, there’s pain radiating down your spine and motherfuck, you can’t move.  
  
She lets you fall like she doesn’t care, doesn’t throw you to the ground and hold you there like you would to her, just walks around you with a length of rope, casually tying your wrists and ankles like this is one of her courtroom dramas and you’re in her power. Like you’re barely worth her time. You hate her, you hate her so much and you want her strung up and bound and on her knees, crying her pretty teal tears and wearing your bruises like she should be, like what her motherfucking calling is, but she doesn’t care for your authority and she won’t bow to the truth you’ve found in the Messiahs. To you.  
  
“You upjumped teal bitch, you’ve got it motherfucking coming to you for your insolence,” you gasp out. She sighs, sounding bored, motherfucking bored, and bends to slap you, open handed, across the face. It’s precise, calculated, humiliating.  
  
“Quiet.” She pauses, then turns to you, all theatrical. “You’re a distraction. You know that, don’t you? You’re convenient. Scuttling around hiding from us, smelling like fear, waiting for the next time I’m bored. I own you, Gamzee, and it’s got nothing to do with blood or hate. It’s because you’re pathetic!” She savors the words like she can taste them. Maybe she can. Everything’s a performance to her. Everything’s a show.  
  
She laughs, high and delighted, like she’s told the funniest joke in all motherfuck. You grit your teeth at the sound and try to pretend like her words don’t touch you, like none of it hits you hard in the gut, like it’s nothing and she’s nothing.  
  
“You don’t got your motherfucking understand on what I’m about, chica, and it’s gonna be the end of you. You’ve got no motherfucking idea, you don’t fuck with me and my exalted blood, you don’t fuck with the prophets, you don’t fuck with the Messiahs.” Your voice is steady, cuts right into the air in front of her. You don’t feel it.  
  
She shakes her head, amused, fucking condescending. “Alternia’s gone. There are no more highbloods or lowbloods. Wake up. There are no Messiahs here. There’s just you and the rest of us. When we talk to you? It’s because we fucking deign to.” She grins, taps her stupid-ass cane on the ground, right in a pool of your blood, licks the tip.  
  
“The court holds you in account, you poisonous Faygo-reeking asshole, of being useless.” She pulls out a noose, examines it with her fingers, holds it to her nose and sighs contentedly. “And that’s the worst crime of all.”  
  
“You’re the motherfucking useless one, coming motherfucking crawling to motherfucking me for your kicks when you think I’m--”  
  
She cuts you off with a gentle finger to your lips. “You say ‘motherfucking’ more when you’re scared.”  
  
“I got no cause to be scared of you.” Your voice is shaking.  
  
“Yes, you do.” She fixes the noose over your head, tightens it at your neck, and then moves to the button of her jeans. “I don’t even need eyes to see through you. No one needs you. No one wants you. You’re just the shadow in the vents. You know it. I know it.” She pulls your own pants over your hips, settles there, her bulge curling around yours, sliding to your nook. “Everyone knows it.”  
  
She slams into you, hard, and in the same motion grips the noose. You gasp, choke, a strangled, weak sound. She laughs again, sharp as the teeth that have left her mark on you, and thrusts into you again, matching to the rhythm of her pull on the noose. Your eyes widen in panic, and you struggle against her.  
  
“You’ve always been worthless,” she pants, hands clenching over your shoulders just like yours were on hers.  
  
She has brought you down like no one ever could. She has made of you what she wants you to be: a nothing, a fearful creature who exists for her enjoyment, for the mocking of your old friends. You snarl and the sound is so reduced for a moment you feel the same kind of lost you used to feel when your lusus was gone and you didn’t know why.  
  
“Stop,” you force out, coughing.  
  
She leans down to whisper in your ear, twisting the noose around your neck. “Say ‘guilty.’”  
  
You wheeze, and you groan, and she fucks you and you can’t breathe and you’ll come back for this, you motherfucking like it and you’re so wrong and it is that that, finally, makes you whisper a soft, “Guilty.”  
  
She makes you say it louder, makes you repeat it as she finishes, then lets up, pulls out of you before you’re anywhere near ready, ignores your whine as she does her pants back up, doesn’t bother to untie you.  
  
“Think on your sins, Gamzee,” she says, with a last smirk, and she’s gone, and you’re lying in a pool of your blood, your nook leaking her genetic material, and all the miracles have left you and you don’t know what you are anymore.


End file.
